


Callie Walked In.  1/1.

by punky_96



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 17:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ.Summary: Another version of some of Erica’s thoughts about her past and initial relationship with Callie Torres.





	Callie Walked In.  1/1.

_**Callie Walked In  
**_  
    New beginnings—they bring a sense of hope and energy. It is like the adrenaline rush of a surgery or even the thrill of a roller coaster. The building is new, the faces are new, there are no blurry lines between you and these faces. The ORs are clean, sterile. The surgeons are top-notch and at the top of their game. Anything is possible. Harper Avery Award. Hours of research. Residents that want to study with me. I can do this, I can keep my arms held high over my head as the coaster slowly clicks up and forward and then plummets through its exhilarating journey. I am Dr. Erica Hahn and I can do anything—and if you challenge me, I’ll cut you down with the icy cold stare of my patented death glare.  
  
***  
  
    _“Erica Hahn. First day.”  
  
    “First day indeed and a mountain of paperwork to prove it.”  
  
    “Derek Shepherd. You know Erica Hahn.”  
  
    “You’re the new Burke.”  
  
    “And. This is Dr. Mark Sloan, he’s the head of Plastics. Erica Hahn.”  
  
    “Ahhh. The new Burke.”  
  
    “Welcome. Excuse us.”  
  
    “Interesting guys. And by interesting I mean ridiculously attractive. Do you hire on looks alone or is skill a factor?”  
  
    “Good to have you here, Erica.”  
  
    “Good to be here, Richard.”_  
  
***  
  
    Years ago when my marriage collapsed in a pile of ruin under me. I floundered a good long time. I sought advice, distraction, wisdom, and busy-ness. I threw myself into my work with a passion that eclipsed everything I had ever known.   
  
    I had a busy-ness that would not stop—there was an endless amount of research to do, hands on skills to practice, notes to type, new methods to follow up on, consulting to do, and reading. Always there was reading. Ideas came and went and I even began to look for connections with other disciplines. New skills or techniques that may be useful in my own practice or that I could share in the practice of others.  
  
    The only wisdom that I really received was that time would make the difference and that I couldn’t rush the healing. Didn’t I know that from my work, from my patients and their follow up care. Didn’t I know that from dealing with families over the years of loved ones that I had helped or ultimately been at the side of as they crossed over into the great unknown? I did know that. I didn’t feel that. The emptiness raged through me and consumed everything in its wake.  
  
***  
  
   _“Dr. Hahn. I heard a crazy rumor about you.”  
  
    “That I’m performing open heart surgery on a man who’s wide awake?”  
  
    “That’s the rumor.”  
  
    “That’s the truth.”  
  
    “I perform awake brain surgery all the time.”  
  
    “Not the same thing.” We say in unison to Derek.  
  
    “You ever heard of a gentlemen’s evening?”  
  
    “I’m sorry?”  
  
    “The chief is hosting a gentlemen’s evening.”  
  
    “We’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve porn, but you know we want to be sure.”  
  
    “Right.”  
  
    “Are you two a couple?”  
  
    “No.” They laugh. “No.”  
  
    “Just checking.”_  
  
***  
  
    The distractions that I found were friends and parties and flirting. I went out like I was in my twenties again. It was hollow for me though, unlike it had been then when it was all golden and new. It was like hunting. Hunting for a good time, a thrill, someone to warm my skin, until the loneliness crept back in—like a cheating lover in the night. I traveled, played pool, swam with strangers, and tried to outrun the truth of my existence—that I had been left.  
  
    The advice I was given was to take a minimum of six months to get over it: that I would know when the time had come. Then I was to take a minimum of six months to figure out how I got into the relationships I got into and what mistakes there were and what didn’t work for me. This was to be a time of personal reflection and study. Lastly I was to take a minimum of six months to realize what I wanted. What would make me happy in life, and what would make me happy in a new relationship.  
  
    I was single four months then. A month for each part of that process and then another month just because. Then I was up and running again, and again I was in a relationship that was better suited for me, but was in the long run, not any of the things I would have come to had I really taken the time to heal, figure things out and be confident in myself and what I wanted. I settled. I caved. I gave in to things I didn’t want to. Ultimately it ate away at me and it kept eating away at me, until I couldn’t stand it. Until I was not sleeping, not eating, and not functioning. I took five years to wear myself down like that to let the illusion of perfect love suck the life out of me like a slow hemorrhage.  
  
    I moved out all of a sudden like an abused woman running away for her life and never looking back. Only I looked back and that was almost as painful, as shattering. I was destroyed, but had to save myself, but the reason that I had stayed so long was because I did love, because I didn’t want to hurt him. I destroyed him as I salvaged myself from the ashes. And that hurt me even more to know that I had caused that kind of pain in someone, the same kind of pain I had tried so hard myself to recover from and forget about.  
  
    I slept on an air mattress for two months. I had an incredibly cheap kitchen-in-a-box that had warped thin plastic plates that couldn’t even substitute for Frisbees. I had no tv, no chairs, no couch, no dresser… I had to buy coat hangers for my clothes. It was a real awakening to have nothing but a beach towel and a sleeping bag for a while. Camping in your own apartment. The food wasn’t much better—not that I ate anything much.  
  
***  
  
   _“I did not sleep my way to the top. I’m attracted to a talent that resembles my own. Not that it’s any of your business. Your comments were unprofessional and inappropriate. You know what you’re inappropriate and unprofessional.”  
  
    “This is going to be so much fun.”  
  
    “Dr. Yang. Did you hear? Dr. Hahn has agreed to become our new head of Cardiothoracic Surgery.”  
  
    “Looking forward to it, Dr. Yang.”_  
  
***  
  
    Of course I was not young and starting out so it was a strange experience to be thrown back into younger happier memories of hard times, while facing the empty reality of my new bachelor existence. Having a steady career makes the financial bouncing back a little easier. I bought a microwave first and then a dining room table and chairs and a chair for the living room. Then I paused for a moment on empty.  
  
    I gathered some steam and decided that I would have the best damn apartment ever. I would be fully stocked with everything a person would want to have in an apartment. It was a good mission—busy, distracting, and fueled by wisdom. It also meant time as I built up my place and got it just right so that I wouldn’t jump into dating again, as I had before.  
  
    I settled into my days and found that I had reached a stage in my life that the loneliness was not suffocating, and the memories were not clawing through my skin. Time had truly transformed me. I had been afraid to leave for a variety of reasons, but being alone with all of the emotions, was one of the hardest to get around. It turned out that I shouldn’t have feared that at all. In fact as I hung out with a few close friends here and there and renewed my love of literature and television, I found it quite rewarding to be alone.  
  
***  
  
     _“So are we on for tonight or what?”  
  
    “Um. I don’t know, I mean I told you I have this other thing.”  
  
    “I don’t, uh, make friends easily. I’m awkward and I’m bad at small talk. And I generally don’t like people that I don’t know, but I made friends with you, and now you have this thing and that thing is Sloan.”  
  
    “Are you mad that I’m sleeping with Mark Sloan?”  
  
    “I’m not mad that you’re sleeping with Sloan. I’m mad that you didn’t tell me that you’re sleeping with Sloan. I’m mad at you, because instead of telling me and admitting that you’re one of those girls that goes all poofy when she gets a boyfriend, you just disappear. With your thing. Mark Sloan.” I walk away. Callie stay still and silent. “I don’t make friends easily.”  
_  
***  
  
    So I went into a cocoon of singleness and didn’t look back that often. For a short period of time after the first six months I wanted romantic companionship for short periods of time, but a couple of times that a man showed interest in me I flirted, enjoyed the thrill of the attention and then turned back again to my solitude. I didn’t need that, and wanted so much more than I had ever wanted in the past, so I knew to just wait, and for once it was instinctual. Around that time was when I had my first night of a full 8-hours of sleep. It was a small mile stone as I noticed it, but still felt the weariness of the year in the burning of my eyes.  
  
    I pushed through and made great strides in my career and my quest for perfection at home. I had matching things: furniture, colors on towels and bedding, a living room set, some art on the walls. The fridge was always full and wine and other beverages readily available. Often my small group of friends would come over, though only one or two at a time. It was better that way, more intimate and spread out over time—one friend one day and another the next. That way there wasn’t too much alone time.  
  
    Years passed by in the safe cocoon of singleness I had created. Eventually I needed to change hospitals and the lure of Seattle Grace pulled me to transfer over there, even though I had been considering Johns Hopkins in Maryland. I was already established in Seattle after all and had a small but good network of friends. Richard was quite convincing in a car salesman kind of way. So with the departure of my long-time rival Preston Burke, I became the new head of Cardiothoracic surgery at Seattle Grace Hospital. Another point on the scoreboard of life, and another line on my resume.  
  
***  
  
   _“Preston Burke. Back from the dead. Can’t say the same for your patient.”  
  
    “Anything you would have done differently, Dr. Hahn.”  
  
    “Given the size of the wound? I would have given up sooner. So how’ve you been, Preston? Last time I saw you, you stole my patient’s heart. Then you got shot. Karma rocks.”  
  
    “What brings you all the way from Seattle Presbyterian to Seattle Grace?”  
  
    “A consult. And knowing how much my being here would annoy you.”  
  
    “Oh. On the contrary. It’s always a pleasure. Although not as much as when you leave.”_  
  
***  
  
    My first day on the job at Seattle Grace brought me into close proximity with the Pretty Ones. I couldn’t believe that Richard had staffed his hospital entirely with attractive people, but everywhere I looked I saw different kinds of pretty. I didn’t like Preston much, but he was attractive. Mark, Derek, and Preston together as a team? Then there were the women—all attractive as well. Residents, but still attractive. Why didn’t Richard have some female attendings? Or where did he hide them? Dermatology?  
  
    I had to perform awake open-heart surgery on a man who was allergic to the anesthesia. Chief Webber took it upon himself to `check on’ me during the surgery. I had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t have checked on his other attendings, his other MALE attendings. I threw his concern right back in his face. I was so tired of pretty powerful men.  
  
    My husband was a pretty man, a powerful man. My boyfriend who undermined me was a pretty powerful man. I saw that the beauty was only skin deep and the power rotted from the inside out. If it hadn’t rotted them, it surely had rotted me. My boyfriend relationship had lasted longer than my marriage, but both beat me down in spades. How do strong women find themselves in these situations? How do strong women just lay that aside and follow, weaken, give up, compromise? Is it Love? Is that what keeps us down, makes us stupid?  
  
***  
 _  
“Chief. You paged.”  
  
    “Close the door.” I do. “You had the nerve to tell a patient you would perform awake open heart surgery without running it past me?”  
  
    “Did Burke run every surgery past you?”  
  
    “Erica, I know you’re new here.”  
  
    “No, I just want to know what the rules are. Every surgery Burke booked he ran it up the flagpole first? And what about Pretty and Prettier? They run all their surgeries past you?”  
  
    “Wait are you talking about Shepherd and Sloan?”  
  
    “I’m talking about your male attendings. You know the ones you invited to your gentlemen’s evening? Guess you don’t know a guy until you work for him. I mean who knew you were running some kind of old boy’s club?”  
  
    “No that is not it.”  
  
    “You realize that an evening to which the male attendings are invited and the women are not. You realize that that’s a lot like when law firms used to have country club weekends and failed to invite the black associates?” Pause and silence. “Good talk. I’ve got to prep for my surgery.”_  
  
  
***  
  
    The days ticked by and I could see glimmers of the greatness this program was known for, but more than that I saw that the beauty I thought I saw on the first day, was only skin deep. Derek Shepherd was involved in an inappropriate relationship with the arguably damaged first year resident Merideth Grey. Sloan thought nothing of making advances on co-workers of any level: a cute orderly, a scrub nurse, an intern, a resident, or me—the only female attending in sight at SGH. Burke left apparently because he almost married his intern who he had almost had a child with, who was now my overly brown-nosing cardio suck-up—Christina Yang—who by the way should have been the strong one in the litter. She had a single-minded drive and ambition to pursue cardio, she drove a motorcycle, and she had a reputation for sharp wit, and yet here she was chasing after me and pining away after Burke. Well at least she loved him, and wasn’t just sleeping with him to get into surgeries.  
  
    Each day I am greeted by my life—a life that does not live up to my expectations and a job that does not live up to my expectations. It is no wonder that I am cranky, rude, cold. It is no wonder that I have become Attila the Hahn, the Ice Queen, the Heart Crusher. I save hearts, lives, but I’m not living my own. Not since my marriage left me feeling that no one would want me, not since my boyfriend left me feeling that I would never be good enough. I do not have a life and since I do not have a life, I don’t care if I am nice or mean to people. Especially people who are superficially pretty, but will in time break me down, and leave me hurting.  
  
    Bite first, stitch later, as necessary. It’s a wonder that Attila the Hanh is the worst they’ve come up with.  
  
***  
  
    A hard day crushes everyone. Chief, Attending, Resident, Intern, Nurse, Orderly—it doesn’t matter who you are on a bad day. Bad ju-ju and problems. A surgery gone wrong and people you know not to count on, disappointing you again despite knowing you shouldn’t count on them. And at the end of this horrible, awful, no good, very bad day you just want to not be alone. To not have to go home to the silent residence, the four walls that stare at you like judge, jury and executioner all in one—silently interrogating you about your life, your happiness, and your choices.  
  
    On that horrible day? You’d let Sloan take you home if it meant you didn’t have to go home alone. If it meant that you could feel your skin warm once again. If it meant that you could forget, that you could hold on to that hope for just once. Just for a little while. You can’t just say that, but you can invite whoever is in the room for a drink and if he’s one of the people—so be it. If the only other person is a resident you’ve hardly talked to—so be it.  
  
***  
  
    _“This is going to sound bizarre. I realize, at this point, that this is going to sound bizarre, but any chance you people want to get a drink with me?”  
  
    “Why would we want to do that?”  
  
    “She’s saying she needs a friend.”  
  
    “OK, fine, let’s drink.”  
  
    “You won’t hit on me?”  
  
    “I can’t promise that.”  
  
    “If I say please?”  
  
    “He still can’t promise that.”  
  
    I looked over Sloan and Torres and gave up. She knew it—I needed a friend. “Fine.”_  
  
***  
  
    Drinking. Darts. Laughter. A fellow surgeon who doesn’t like people. She does most of the talking. I do most of the listening. It’s easy and nice and fun. I haven’t had fun in ages. I haven’t laughed till my sides ached in even longer. I haven’t had someone make the hours tick by quicker. I haven’t missed someone when they were busy for a few days, nor have I wanted to see a friendly face at lunch-time. And yet that’s how it is. After so very long that’s how it is.  
  
    Callie Torres did what no other person on the planet could do. She opened me up to life again. She painted the world in techno-color, gave me hope, gave me a reason to get up in the morning and she usually filled my evenings as well. She also has given me the gift of confusion and questioning. I thought I was a closed off straight not interested career hungry surgeon on my way to becoming chief. I am not closed off with her. I am apparently not straight when it comes to her and not interested? Well, my subconscious seems to be with the dreams that keep stealing into my brain at night. Career hungry? Do I really want the chief’s job? He’s certainly not happy. I like where I am right now. I like who I’ve become in the last several months getting to know Callie. I like the butterflies in my stomach and how my face hurts after I talk to her on the phone. I like how my skin feels like it’s on fire after she accidentally brushes my shoulder or knee or hand.  
  
***  
  
   _“Dr. Torres.”  
  
    “Dr. Hahn. Anyone who can out drink me and still kick my ass at the dart board gets to call me Callie.”  
  
    “Last night was actually fun, wasn’t it?” She murmured in agreement. “And I’m not a group person.”  
  
    “Me neither.”  
  
    “I think it’s because I generally don’t like people.”  
  
    “Me neither.”  
  
    “Mornin’ ladies.”  
  
    “Case in point.”_  
  
***  
  
    Callie Torres walked into my life and I will never be the same. Unfortunately, I had to walk out of hers. I’m left wondering what was the point of opening up again, if it was all for naught? She walked into my life and I will never be the same, but I can’t be with her? So what is the point, exactly? And if I call my friends from way back when, they will tell me—six months to get over it, six months to figure out how I got into this in the first place, and six months to figure out what I wanted.  
  
    What I wanted is behind me—she’s raven haired, caramel skinned, hawk eyed, curvy, giggly, and everything that complements me and makes me a better person because of her. I got into it because I couldn’t not with her, but I did because it was right, it was easy, it was my first breaths of air in so long I couldn’t remember being alive before her. I can’t get over it, because I don’t know how. I don’t want to know how.  
  
***  
 _  
“Hey. I wanted to see if you wanted to go grab a drink.”  
  
    “I can’t find my keys.”  
  
    “Maybe we could, um… I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”  
  
    “I had the damn keys this morning. I put them in this bag, but I can’t remember. This whole thing with Yang has got me so messed up.”  
  
    “Erica.”  
  
    “What?”  
  
    “I’m saying something. I just. I wanted to say. I just wanted to say.”_  
  
***  
  
    Callie Torres walked into my life and I’m walking out of hers. I’ve made it to the car. I know she didn’t follow me. I know that I am alone. I am surrounded by silence. I will go home to the judge, jury, and executioner of the four walls of my house, and I will lay waiting for the verdict to come on my bed without protest as the verdict is read. I will cocoon around myself again, drawing closed my limbs, my weaknesses, my flaws. I will put my life on a shelf to collect dust and never to be rifled through again. I will leave here, I will salt the earth and I will go somewhere unknown to me. A new beginning on a farther shore and it will be all the things that this new beginning wasn’t.  
  
***  
  
 _“Oh, please do not talk to me about a code, this is not that.”  
  
    “No, this is that.”  
  
    I shake my head.  
  
    “Look. I don’t know what happened between Izzie Stevens and Denny Duquette that night, but unless you were in the middle of that situation I don’t see how you can make a judgment.”  
  
    “Easy. There’s right and there’s wrong. And this, this was wrong. And illegal. There is no gray area here. You can’t kind of think this is ok. You can’t kind of side with Izzie Stevens. And you can’t kind of be a lesbian.”  
  
    “Yes, I can.”  
  
    “I can’t believe I didn’t know this.”  
  
    “Erica, the chief is right.”  
  
    “No. You. I don’t know you at all.”_  
  
***  
  
    Callie Torres doesn’t know this though. She’s a quick learner, but she doesn’t know this. She doesn’t know how I became the Ice Queen or how easy it will be to assume that persona again. The Ice Queen is like a familiar sweater that I can slide into and can feel mould to my body, in this case to protect and isolate not to warm and feel cozy. Cozy will be gone. I will go home—rip the sheets off the bed and launder them, throw the leftovers away with the half gone bottle of wine, then I will clean—loud music, bleach, horrible clothes and no regard to the late hour, the noise, or possible health effects of bleach mixed with ammonia.  
  
    Callie doesn’t know all of this. Callie knows that she’s hurt and I’m stubborn. Callie knows that she has a key to my place and I’m not answering my phone calls. Callie Torres know that the sleeping dragon has been awoken and she is the only one that can still it and tame it and train it to fly just for her. Callie doesn’t know all of these things directly, but her subconscious steers her to my house. Her hands turn the key in the lock when there’s no answer. Her legs walk in the door as she shouts my name over the music. Her voice snaps me to shocked attention and I know that Callie Torres has walked into my life and we will never be the same.  
  
***  
  
   _“That hospital is my home. I shouldn’t have defended it or Izzie Stevens. But it’s all I’ve known for over five years.”  
  
    “Why did you come here?”  
  
    “I don’t like people and I don’t make friends easily either.”  
  
    “Why did you come here?!”  
  
    “I am kind of a lesbian.”  
  
    “Get out, Callie! What the hell are you bothering me for?!”  
  
    “I’m in love with you. You’re all I think about. None of the rest matters, because I know that now. I’m in love with you.”  
  
    “What are you talking about?”  
  
    “I’ve freaked out. I’ve run away. I’ve denied. I’ve defended the wrong people. But you don’t get to walk away from me. You’re my friend. You’re my lover. And if you let me— I will finally be yours back! I love you! I’m in love with you!”_  
  
  


 

 

...


End file.
